Funny, but I get this a lot — from former colleagues, casual acquaintances or guys like this, a friend of a friend in a bar.

Maybe it’s due to my years in Japan; people think I have “connections.” Or maybe it’s that I actually have a job and people hope I might have crumbs to drop.

Or perhaps they look at how I gulp down beer and figure the money must come from somewhere. And so they toss a simple flyer. Trying to discover if — job-wise — my glass is half empty or half full.

Answer: It’s bone dry. But if I’m drunk enough, I’ll answer back.

“Well . . . can you speak some Japanese?”

“Are you kidding?” He seems offended. “I can speak Japanese out my behind.”

Wow. Now he has my attention.

“Listen . . . a i u e o, ka ki ku ke ko . . . And I can do it backwards, forwards and upside down. Need someone to ask what time it is? Or someone to buy some stamps? Then I’m your guy. I can handle all that stuff.”

Oh. “And how’s your kanji?”

“Kanji!” He almost bursts. “My kanji is sensational. I can write it with either hand. And then read it with either eye. I am, in fact, a kanji genius. I can even invent kanji. Sometimes people see my kanji and say, ‘What the hell’s that!?’ Japanese people too! Who are born with kanji forged into their brains! And I have to teach them. That’s how good I am.”

“Well . . . can you translate?”

“Translate, interpret, decipher and transform. You need any of that and I’m your man. Give me a speaker of one language and I’ll spit back not only what he said but also what he thought — in any other language you want — even before he thinks it. I offer total explanation emancipation. Complete freedom from words and meanings. Give me a job and you won’t need to communicate with anyone else ever again. I am that good.”

“And if the situation arises . . . can you teach English?”

“Teach English! Ha! Listen to this!” He raises his beer mug.

“Is this a glass or a cucumber? Right, it’s a glass. No not, ‘grass,’ you pinhead. ‘Glass.’ Smile when you say it. Big smile. Glass. Now say it a thousand times. And don’t slack off. I’m counting.”

“Glass, glass . . .”

“No, not you. That was just a sample. And in the next lesson we discuss the difference between ‘glass’ and ‘grass.’ Like, which feels better to sit on. Or which would make a better eyeball. So as you can see. I’m a regular English teaching machine.”

“Well, how about group dynamics then? This is a group society. Here, you have to mesh with the team.”

“And,” he continues, “I insist on teamwork. You know . . . one guy holds one piece of paper, another guy holds the other, another brings the stapler and another pushes it down. And last, another guy makes a ‘ka-chunk’ sound. That’s the way to get things done.”

“OK. How about respecting your elders? That’s important too.”

“Hey, I’m respecting you, aren’t I? And you’re not even buying. Still, I respect you. I like the way you ask stupid questions. Not everyone can do that. Thus you have earned my highest admiration. Which would zoom even higher if you can get me a job.”

“What’s your visa?”

“I use MasterCard.”

“And how long have you been in Japan?”

“Including tonight?”

I feel compelled to tell him the truth. Jobs are hard to get, I don’t have any to give and he wouldn’t get one if I did. I consider the most tactful way to say all this and then begin.

“Listen . . .” I pause over his name.

“Please. Call me, Mr. Group.”

“Mr. Group. I got lots of bugs in my light fixtures and need to get home. It’s been fun.”

He blinks. “Oh sure, I understand. But if you hear of anything — anything at all — let me know. I’m often in the corner over there, drunk on my face.”

And then I produce the biggest whopper of the night.

“Keep trying. Something will turn up.”

“Don’t worry. Mr. Group never quits. I’ll give it another week, at least.”